


Tokyo, January, 8 PM

by isuilde



Category: Free!
Genre: Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, also i'm sorry in advance my brain refused to english tonight so i got kind of repetitive sob, i just wanted to write them bickering and teasing each other, idek what this is, post-season 2 i guess, somewhat?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night phone call conversation between Makoto and Rin, between Tokyo and Australia.</p>
<p>Supposedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokyo, January, 8 PM

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the gross fluff, is all I want to say.
> 
> Also, the last bit of the fic was completely [Ad_Astra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra)'s fault. 8) For [naturalvirtue](http://naturalvirtue.tumblr.com/), happy belated birthday. I tried writing an Angels/Demons AU but I got completely stuck, I'm sorry for this... sorry excuse of a gift, thank you so much for brightening our days with your artworks. :D

It’s eight in the evening when Makoto’s phone rings; Rin’s tone, with his name flashing on the screen, and Makoto nearly throw his laptop in his haste to scramble towards the coffee table, leaving behind a flurry of papers, a mug of untouched hot cocoa and a thick, comfortable blanket his mother had sent from home. It’s nearing the end of winter, but nights in Tokyo is still frozen, the unmoving air in his apartment icy against the tip of Makoto’s nose.

He snatches his cell phone and slides a finger across the screen, excitement bubbling up his throat. “Hello, Rin?”

There’s laughter from the other side of the call, warm and content, with a hint of teasing. “Christmas had already passed, Makoto.”

“Mean,” Makoto grins. “I’m just happy to hear from you. Wait a second,” he pulls himself to his feet, clambers up back to his couch and slips back under his blanket, balancing his laptop on his knees and holding the mug of cocoa close. “Okay, I’m good.”

Rin snorts through the phone, sounding amused. “Were you getting back into your nest?”

“It’s not a nest.”

“Haru said it is. Should I be jealous of your couch?”

“Rin!” Makoto bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking, and the blanket slips a little off him. He catches it, pulls it up and burrows deeper into the warmth, thinks of Rin and his brilliant grins. “It’s freezing here, so I’m keeping myself warm.”

“Nesting,” Rin teases playfully. He’s obviously in a good mood tonight—Makoto likes that, likes it when he could hear Rin’s laughter tinting each and every word he says over the phone, when he could perfectly picture the crinkle on the corners of Rin’s eyes, the upward curve of his lips and the flashing sharp teeth between them.

“Not all of us can bask under Australia’s sun on January,” Makoto says. He glances at the window, catches sight of the white flakes fluttering down outside his window. He shakes his head in exasperation—it’s almost February, and yes it still snows. “It’s sad that your boyfriend didn't take you along to Australia to escape the cold Tokyo.”

Rin snorts. “He’s so awful.”

Makoto smiles, presses his phone closer against his ear, if possible—maybe he could hear the low rasp of Rin’s voice when he laughs, the sound of Rin’s breath, or the distant background noise of Rin’s apartment in Australia—god, he misses Rin.

“Not really,” he finally replies, the word sounding more melancholic than he’d thought. “He’s actually really great.”

He hears Rin’s exhale coming out as a soft chuckle. “Yeah?”

“He’s brilliant.” Makoto says, and he feels a little like he’s naked, somehow, because the words coming out are too raw and honest, and he isn’t sure why he’s saying this. “Bright and hot, like the summer sun over there.”

Rin makes a noise Makoto can’t identify, but he catches the sound of Rin swallowing, before Rin’s reply comes, “You’re seriously bad for my ego.” He huffs, something scratchy in his voice, and Makoto wants to grasp each word in his hands, wants to weave them together, to burrow himself into their warmth—the warmth of Australian summer, of beach and sparkling sand, of wide open pool and Rin’s smiles.

“I’m just really proud of my boyfriend,” Makoto says lightly—there’s no use in getting all sad and melancholic, he’d much rather hear Rin’s laugh anyway. “Even if he  _was_ too busy training to come visit me for Christmas.”

Rin groans. “Oh, come  _on_ —you’re still on about that? Haven’t you guys had your revenge? Everyone laughed at my sweater, you know.”

Makoto grins so wide he’s sure Rin could probably hear the way his cheeks are stretched. “Did you wear the sweater?”

“I wore it in the middle of a scorching summer. I sent you the picture. I let you send the picture to Haru, Makoto, goddammit.”

Makoto starts snickering, remembering the tacky, bright red-and-green Christmas sweater he and Haru had sent to Rin back in December. The thing was ugly; it had two bling trees on the front, peppered with tiny dangling Santa hats and awful green trim lining on the sleeves. He and Haru had impulsively bought five of those horrible sweaters, one for each of them and sending the rest to Rin, Nagisa and Rei. “I have it set as my desktop background.”

“Glad you’re laughing over my suffering.” Rin snits, but there’s a smile hiding beyond his words. “You’re still in your nest?”

“It’s not a nest.”

“If Haru says it is, then it is.” Rin huffs a laugh. Then he pauses, long enough for Makoto to picture him sprawled on the bed, probably only wearing a tanktop and shorts because the night is hot, with his hair still wet after a shower. The image brings heat to his face, and Makoto’s glad Rin isn’t here to see him blush like a middle school boy having a crush on his teacher. “Makoto?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies hastily, one hand coming up to rub his face, willing the heat to back off. “Yeah, here.”

“What, Tokyo’s winter freezing your brain?” Rin sounds amused. “Is it snowing, over there?”

Makoto looks over to the window—he could see the frost forming across the glass, the white flakes still floating down silently. “Actually, yeah, it’s snowing. I can’t believe it’s almost February.” And almost Rin’s birthday, he thinks, smiling to himself at the thought of the small scrapbook hidden in his closet—a joint effort with all their friends for Rin’s birthday present this year. He shifts, puts down his mug of cocoa and sets aside his laptop, shuffling out of his nest to creep towards the closed window and take a better look outside. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to pile up, though.”

“Leaving your nest, aren’t you?”

“Oh, shut up,” Makoto laughs. He stares at the muted snowflakes drifting down, tiny white blurs against the dark sky only to be swallowed up in the bright light of Tokyo’s streets. Somehow it makes him feel rather small, to look out over the blinding nightlights and the empty sky devoid of stars. He wonders if it’s different where Rin is, right now. If Rin could see the stars, even if they’re different from the stars Makoto would have seen if it weren’t for Tokyo’s light pollution. If the snow is different where Rin stays, if they fall at the same speed or maybe slower, if they would taste different if Rin sticks out his tongue and catch some.

“Makoto?” Rin calls, somewhat tentatively, pulling him out of his thoughts. He realizes he’s been silent for a while, and he opens his mouth—to laugh it off, to chuckle, to tell Rin that it’s nothing, to—

His voice catches in his throat.

“Makoto? Are you still there?” Rin pauses, two-three-four beats, and when Makoto still can’t answer, he laughs. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.”

He takes a breath, feels it sticks to the back of his throat, like there’s something that blocks air from his lungs, and Makoto closes his eyes, rests his forehead on the windowsill.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, the words appearing out of thin air, and he tries desperately to grab them. “I want to see you, Rin.”

And nothing. There’s only the sound of Rin’s breath; the soft rush of air reaching Makoto’s ears through his phone. His words hang in the chilly glass of the window, unable to disappear into the night wind, fogging the clear reflection of himself and the night view outside.

Then Rin says, “Why don’t you open the window.”

“What?” It’s so out of the blue that Makoto needs a second to process the reply. “No way—I told you it’s freezing.”

“It’s fine, you can go back to your nest after,” Rin shoots back, and maybe it’s the conviction in his voice, or the confidence underlining his words, that Makoto lets his hand under the window and slides it up. His eyes catch an ambulance on the corner of the street, its siren piercing the silence of the night as it drives off to the main road, but—

But the siren echoes. Through his phone.

“Look down,” Rin’s voice says, but it’s not only coming from his phone, it’s coming from somewhere below his window, and Makoto enjoys the way his heart stutter in his chest, enjoys the way disbelief leaping up his throat, enjoys the way his lips curving up into a smile before he even looks down.

Under his window, bright red eyes gaze back up at him, a mischievous grin turning into a soft one, and Matsuoka Rin raises a hand, waving.

“Hey,” he hears Rin say, the word carries over to his ears both by the phone and by the night wind, happy and warm. Makoto stares and stares, aware that he’s probably grinning like a fool and that his throat is clogging up as his heart bounces like a kid in Christmas morning. “Are you going to let me in?”

“I,” Makoto says breathlessly. He starts laughing, helpless, because it’s Rin standing on the backyard of his apartment, under his window like some sort of modern Romeo, bundled up in that hideous Christmas sweater and a purple scarf that clashes with everything he wears, in the middle of a freezing January and it’s still snowing and  _they’re still on the phone_ —god, Makoto thinks, almost hysterically, he loves this man so much.

Rin grins up—his trademark Matsuoka grin, sharp white teeth flashing roguely at Makoto. “I’m freezing.”

Makoto laughs. “Come on up,” he says. “I’ve got a nest.”

And later, when Rin stumbles into his apartment and wraps his arms around Makoto, icy lips searching for Makoto’s warm ones, pulling him into a kiss that tastes of chocolate,sweet and melty and  _hot_ , Makoto tugs at the ugly sweater and laughs against Rin’s lips.

He thinks he’d like the sweater better off Rin, maybe.

**\-----o0o-----**


End file.
